


Letters to a Prince

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Bad Parent John Winchester, Letters, M/M, Prince Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Two Person Love Triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: Ever since he was a kid, Dean has been writing letters to a friend from a nearby kingdom who he knows only as C. Over the years, he finds himself falling in love...But when his father arranges a marriage between Dean and one of the princes of Eden, his fantasy of one day being able to C in person and confess his feelings comes crumbling down.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 129
Kudos: 795
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	Letters to a Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a live story time over at the [Profound Bond discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! I've been wanting to write a two person love triangle fic for so long, and finally managed to get around to it :D
> 
> Enjoy!

For as long as he can remember, Dean has written letters.

"The ability to conduct oneself through writing is one of the most important skills a king can possess," his stern-faced tutor had told him when he was younger. He'd never understood the appeal—all his other classes were much more fun, and he much preferred getting to be outside learning weaponry or horseback riding. But literacy and education were part of his tutelage, and he hadn't quite learned how to stand up to his father quite yet, so he bore the lessons with much grumbling and impatience.

They never seemed worth it. What was the point of learning all these fancy long words that his father never used anyway? King John solved the kingdom's problems with battles, not with politics and boring letters, and young Dean had already decided that that would be how _he_ would run his kingdom when it came time to lead. He'd take play fighting and battle training classes over letter writing any day.

Until his tutor had set him up with a pen pal.

~

"This is stupid," Dean protest, but his tutor hushes him, sliding a piece of paper across the desk until it sits in front of him.

"Stupid or not,” his tutor says, voice firm, “you will be doing it, Your Highness. It is important for a king to be able to conduct himself well in the written form, and this will help you get used to writing for an audience. For a _purpose_. They don't have to be fancy letters—just write whatever comes to mind."

Dean glares mistrustfully down at the paper, empty and untouched. "Whatever comes to mind?" he asks, his mind gone suddenly and unhelpfully blank.

His tutor just chuckles. "Simply try to make friends, Your Highness. Get to know the person you're writing to."

And that's another thing. "Who _am_ I writing to?" Dean asks, his brows furrowed. All of his friends are people he can just see around the castle—there's no point writing them a letter if he could just _talk_ to them instead.

For a second, his tutor pauses, watching Dean with a sense of consideration that makes him shift in his seat. "You are writing to someone in a different kingdom," his tutor says finally. "Someone who may not understand our customs, and who may have different ideals to us. It is your job to create a friendship with them, Dean."

 _Someone from a different kingdom?_ Dean has never properly spoken to anyone from a different kingdom. People have visited the palace, sure, but it's always been to speak with his parents. Dean has just been there for decoration— _there's the crown prince, how much he looks like his mother, you're doing well raising that one, Your Majesty._

The idea of actually _communicating_ with someone from a totally different kingdom... it's a little scary.

"So, what," he says, his words coloured with doubt and hesitation. "I just... tell them who I am? And they'll be friends with me?"

His tutor snorts, a sound that falls somewhere between amusement and gentle disbelief. "No, Your Highness. In fact, you can't _ever_ tell them who you are. You will sign your letters with your second name, and you will not ever mention that you are a prince, much less that you are the crown prince of Winchester. That is _very important_ , should these letters come to be intercepted one day. Do you understand?"

There's an intensity to his tutor's words that takes Dean aback, and he knows that this is a serious matter. "I understand," he says quietly—then adds, "How am I meant to make them friends with me if I can't tell them I'm a prince?"

He must have said something wrong, because his tutor just shakes his head. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Your Highness. That is the point of the exercise, after all. If you can become friends with someone you have never seen, without them ever knowing your status, then I will have prepared you well for your future as the king."

He pats Dean gently on the shoulder, then sets down a quill and ink beside the blank sheet of paper and stands. "You have an hour to write your first message, and then I will come and collect it to be given to my messenger. Make good use of your time."

And then he leaves, and it's just Dean, sitting at his desk and staring down at the empty paper.

What is he meant to write? He's never had to make friends like this before, and the idea of doing so is a little intimidating.

For a long time, Dean sits and thinks, until the shifting angle of the sun that slants through the window warns him that his writing time is nearing its end. Finally, he reaches for the quill, dips it in the ink, and begins to write.

_Hello._

_I am not sure what to write. I have never written to someone to be friends with them before. Are you a boy or a girl? I am a boy, and my favourite colour is blue. I have a horse named Impala. Do you have any animals?_

_I'm sorry if this is a bad letter. I'm still learning how to write to people. I wish I could ask what your name is, but I don't think I'm allowed. Wherever you are, I hope you're having a good day. My tutor says you're in a different kingdom to me, which is weird, but I think you're still a good person. Especially if you're writing a letter back to me._

_Will you be writing a letter back to me?_

The door creaks open, and Dean jerks in his seat, then hurriedly finishes off his letter.

_I hope you do. I have to go now, goodbye._

He pauses before signing the letter, remembering what his tutor had said. To this person, he can't be the crown prince of Winchester. He can't be Dean. So, instead, he writes, in a messy hand unpracticed at these letters:

_From, Michael._

"Done!" he claims, shoving the letter over towards his tutor, who has been standing by his shoulder for the last minute.

His tutor picks it up and reads over it, eyes scanning Dean's hurried words and lips twitching up just a little. "Very nice, Your Highness," he says with an approving nod. "It's a good start. I will send this off—you're free to go to your next class now.”

Dean's next class is archery, which is much more fun than writing, and so Dean is out of his seat in an instant. "Bye!" he shouts as he hightails it towards the door, already thinking about his bow where it waits for him in the armoury.

It doesn't take him long to forget all about the letter—until the morning that he wakes and finds a cream-coloured envelope sitting on the desk in his room.

It hasn't been sealed properly, because there's no crest pressed into the wax, just a solid, undecorated circle. Dean frowns down at it and picks it up, turning it over in his hands. There's nothing written on the front, either, nothing to suggest it might be addressed to him. Is it even in the right place? Surely one of the servants has left it in Dean's quarters by mistake.

And then he remembers the afternoon with his tutor, two weeks ago, and his eyes light up.

Dean is quick to break the seal on the envelope and pull out the letter inside, flattening it out on top of his desk and beginning to read. Whoever he's writing to has curlier handwriting than Dean does, which makes it a little tricky at first, but he's too determined to let it beat him, and it doesn't take him long to get the hang of what the words are saying.

_Hello, Michael._

_It is nice to hear from you. I did not realise that I had a writing correspondent until I received this letter, but it has been nice to write to you. I am a boy—unfortunately I have been told that I am not allowed to share my name with you. My favourite colour is green, and I do have animals, yes. I too have a horse, her name is Angel, and my father has many dogs. He says that when I am older, I will be allowed to have one of my own._

_Do you have any siblings? I have several older brothers and sisters. They are not very fun to play with, so I spend a lot of time reading books. It is nice to be able to write to someone—and I believe you are about my age, otherwise we would not have been paired up together as friends._

_Today I am having a good day, and I hope that you are as well. I like to think I am a good person, and I will keep writing to you as long as you are a good person too._

_Sincerely, C._

Dean reads and rereads the letter, until he knows every word and every curling letter by heart. C—it feels so strange just calling him that—sounds nice, and writes very fancily.

It makes Dean pause. _Is my writing good enough?_ he thinks, his brow furrowing in concern. He hadn't put very much effort into his first letter, because he hadn't really known what he was doing, but now that he's seen how nicely C can write...

His lessons aren't meant to be until this afternoon, but as soon as breakfast is over, Dean is running through the castle to the library and bursting into his tutor's office.

"IgotaletterbackandIneedyoutohelpmewriteagoodreply!" he tells his tutor breathlessly, brandishing the letter he'd received this morning in his hand.

His tutor looks up at him with raised eyebrows, definitely caught off guard, but his expression softens into one of gentle amusement when he realises what Dean is shouting about. "So your friend replied, hmm?" he asks with a smile, then stands up from his desk with a quiet sigh. "Alright, meet me at your desk, and we can figure out what to write back."

Dean spends the rest of the morning talking with his tutor, the two of them working on a much longer letter. By the time they're done with it, Dean feels proud of what he's managed to achieve, his heart beating excitedly in his chest as he thinks of his mysterious new friend receiving the letter and hopefully being as excited as Dean was to get his this morning.

"Very well done, Your Highness," his tutor says as he folds up the letter and places it inside an envelope. Dean preens beneath the praise—he doesn't get it from his tutor very often, and especially not for writing well. It makes him want to earn more, to do better, both for himself and for his tutor, and especially for his new friend.

"Do you think he'll like this letter?" he asks nervously, but his tutor just smiles.

"I'm sure he'll love it."

And that was how it started, in the beginning.

~

Over the years, Dean grows up, and many things about him change, but many also stay the same.

His friendship with C, and the letters they exchange, is one of those things.

They don't bother writing through their tutors any more—it hadn't taken Dean long to get good at writing, with the right motivation (which he now realises had been his tutor's intention the whole time, the sneaky old man), and now he just gives his letters straight to their messenger.

And it's just as well. Over the years, as they've grown older, the content of their letters has changed. They share their discoveries, their fears, their frustrations, _everything_ with each other. There's a lot that Dean has told C that he'd never want anyone else to find out, let alone his tutor.

They've been friends for ten years, after all. Even though they've never met, C is Dean's best friend, the person he's closest to out of anyone.

And, if Dean's being honest...

He might be a little bit in love.

He's not sure—he's never really been in love, after all. He's had crushes on people he's thought were pretty, but as the prince, he's never been allowed to get close enough to any eligible guy or girl to be able to develop any kind of romantic feelings.

But with C, it's more than just infatuation. They've never seen each other, after all, so there's no way that physical attraction can play into it. C just _understands_ Dean like no-one else does. He knows the parts of Dean that no one else has seen, the parts that feel safe to reveal in a letter, to someone he knows will never judge him. And he knows C. Knows how he thinks, what he values, his likes and dislikes and everything in between.

And more and more, with every letter that they exchange, with every year, month, _day_ that passes, Dean wants to meet him even more.

He's asked his tutor and the messenger about C more times than he can count, but neither of them will tell him anything about who C is, and even though Dean is now technically an adult, free to make his own decisions... It feels wrong to reveal to C who he is, or to ask C who _he_ is.

Because there's always that lingering doubt in Dean's head.

What if C doesn't feel how Dean feels? What if he doesn't want to meet? What if he changes how he feels about Dean once he learns that he's a prince?

There are so many variables, so many things that could still go wrong even though C already knows him better than any other human being in any kingdom, and it's that tiny kernel of fear and doubt that keeps Dean from revealing himself. Besides, he has his kingdom to think of. C doesn't have an allegiance to Winchester—what if the information that Dean has shared ends up being used against his kingdom? Not that he ever thinks that C would do that, but if his letter were to fall into the wrong hands...

And so he never tells C about who he is, and he never presses C about his own identity, either.

No, it's better for them to just keep living in their fantasy, for as long as they can. As long as Dean keeps receiving letters from C, as long as he still has their friendship, that's enough. He can keep secretly pining, his heart aching for someone he can never have, and maybe one day...

Maybe one day he'll have the courage to take the leap.

But for now, it's too precious to lose. He doesn't want anything to change.

And then, one afternoon, he's called to an audience with his parents in the throne room, and _everything_ changes.

~

It's not often that Dean’s parents call him to an official meeting as the _King and Queen_ instead of just his parents, so Dean is more than a little wary as he stands in front of the doors to the throne room. What could they possibly want from him?

Dean tugs at his tunic, then reaches up to adjust the crown that he barely wears, the sides of it digging uncomfortably into his head. That’s another thing—it’s so rare for him to be asked to dress in his official royal attire, so whatever this is, it must be serious.

The guards standing on each side of the doors to the throne room begin to open them, and Dean has to snap to attention, dropping his hands to his sides. The throne room is slowly revealed to him, all high ceilings and the impossibly long carpet that precedes the thrones. His mother and father are there, of course, with Sam sitting off to the side—

And then Dean's eyes fall on the group of people already standing in front of the thrones. They're dressed differently, in silver armour and flowy fabric, so different to the iron and earth tones customary of Winchester people.

No, Dean has done his study, he knows the customs of their neighbours, and these people?

They're from Eden.

He's immediately put on edge as he walks the rest of the way down the lavish carpet to where the others seem to be waiting for him, trying to tempter his suspicion with the courtesy that he knows he needs to show as a prince in front of foreign guests. Eden is not explicitly an enemy of Winchester, but they’re also not friends, so Dean doesn’t quite know what to make of this visit.

The Edenites move aside slightly as he approaches, each giving him a small, respectful nod. Dean inclines his head politely to his parents, then fixes his feet to the floor and lifts his chin. "You asked to see me, Your Majesties?" he asks, making sure to address his parents formally, but not trying to hide the hint of confusion from his voice.

King John gestures to the group of visitors, and Dean watches as one of them steps forward.

"These people are advisors to the King of Eden, Dean. King Charles and I have been communicating these past few months, and we would like to put an end to the tensions between our two kingdoms." 

Dean frowns, looking between his father and the Edenites. Their countries have been toeing the line of war for years, and so it's good news to know that his father is trying to resolve the tension... but why does Dean need to be here for this?

"In order to do this," his father continues, "simply signing a treaty isn't enough. It needs to be a show of good will from both sides, a commitment to furthering a peaceful relationship. And the only way to do that..."

Dean's gaze slides off to the side, and only now does he realise why Sam has been so quiet, so unnaturally still. He's pale with anger, his jaw clenched, brightness welling up in the corners of his eyes. When Dean meets his gaze, something devastatingly _sad_ flickers across his face, and then his eyes slant away.

Something is wrong.

"...is with a marriage."

_What?_

"Dad— _Your Majesty_ ," Dean corrects, when John gives him a withering look. "You can't marry Sam off, he's just a kid, you—"

"No, Dean." His father's voice is cold and sharp, biting with disapproval at being interrupted. "Sam is not the one who will be marrying a prince of Eden. _You_ are."

Everything in Dean goes cold, all at once.

_No. No, this can't be true._

"What?" he spits out, incredulous. He can feel his hands shaking, but distantly, as though he's no longer properly attached to his body. "You—you've fucking married me off, like it's _nothing_? Without even telling me? And to someone I've never even met, are you insane?"

"Enough!" John roars, slamming his fist down on the arm of his throne and then levelling a finger at Dean. "If I hear one more word from you, I'll have you thrown in the dungeons until you're due to leave. You may be my son, but I am your _King_ , and you will do as I say for the good of our kingdom. Am I understood?"

Clenching his jaw so hard that he can feel his teeth creak, Dean gives a single, sharp nod.

Seemingly satisfied—though still furious—John sits back in his chair and gestures to the Edenite who had stepped forward "Uriel, please tell Prince Dean of the arrangements that have been made for the wedding."

Uriel inclines his head, although he does not turn to Dean. Instead, he addresses the King and Queen, leaving Dean to continue trembling with silent shock and fury.

"We will be leaving to return to Eden with Prince Dean tomorrow. It is two days' ride from here, and once we have arrived at the palace, the wedding will take place that night. Prince Dean and Prince Castiel will honeymoon in Eden for two nights, after which they will return here for another ceremony to fully unite both of our kingdoms. Prince Castiel will live here, and will eventually rule Winchester by Prince Dean’s side. It will be a new dawn for our kingdoms."

John nods approvingly, while Dean feels like his heart might shatter. He doesn't even get to have his wedding here, with his family and his friends? Sure, they'll have the 'other ceremony' here, but on the night he meets his future husband, when he devotes himself to someone forever...

He won't have anyone by his side. No Mary, no Sam, no...

_C._

Oh, gods. He's getting married, and it will not be to the person he's in love with.

How is he even going to _tell_ C?

Dean barely hears the rest of the conversation. There's a buzzing in his head, and it feels as though someone has dropped a block of stone on his chest, crushing his ribs until he can't breathe. This, this information, this _betrayal_... it hurts worse than anything he's ever felt in his life.

It feels like both mere seconds and entire eons have passed when John's voice snaps Dean out of his haze. " _Dean_. Did you hear anything I just said?"

Silently, Dean shakes his head, and John sighs, barely suppressing his frustration. "Go to your quarters and pack," he tells Dean, waving his hand dismissively. "Enough for your journey—I will have our tailors organise your wedding outfits. You leave with Uriel and his guards tomorrow at dawn."

Dean stares at him, barely able to pick himself up from where he lies shattered on the floor. He can't reply, can't acknowledge that he's understood, because he doesn't trust himself to hold it together if he speaks.

Finally, John shakes his head in barely concealed irritation. " _Go_ ," he orders, and Dean does. He turns on his heel and he walks away, and by some miracle he manages to avoid melting down. He's never felt more like a ghost as he makes his way through the palace to his quarters, and he doesn't remember putting one foot in front of the other, but he must have, because now he's closing the door to his quarters behind himself and leaning back against it.

The wood of the door is smooth and hard against his back, and Dean lets his head fall against it as his eyes close.

 _I'm getting married,_ he thinks, and _that's_ when the tears come.

Dean lets himself sink to the ground, crumpling into a ball against stone and wood and curling his arms around his knees. He'd known, he'd _always_ known that this was a possibility. He's a prince, he's the _crown_ prince, and there would come a time in his life where he would have to make a sacrifice for his kingdom.

He'd just assumed that, when the time came, he'd be _consulted_ about it, instead of having it sprung on him in front of a room full of strangers.

Oh, what a fool he'd been.

And now, all his half-baked dreams of meeting C, of getting to find out who he is, the possibility of confessing his love and getting to have the happy ending he's dreamed of for so long...

There's no option for any of that any more.

Dean doesn't know how long he sits there and cries, sobbing like a kid into the fabric of his tunic. Someone knocks on his door at some point, but he'd locked it behind him, and so he just forces himself to hold back the sobs until he hears the footsteps retreat.

After what feels like forever, there are no more tears left. Dean just sits there, empty and aching, staring at the walls of his quarters that no longer feel like the haven they've been all his life. He sits until his body has gone as numb as his heart and his mind, until the sun dips below the horizon and casts long shadows into his room, finally replacing everything with darkness and the faint silver light of the moon.

Only then does Dean move, prising himself up off the floor. His body _aches_ , but at least it serves as some reprieve from the pain inside him—the ache of having his choice taken away from him, and having to give up his dream of ever being with the person he loves.

He lights some candles, so that he can at least see what he's doing, because if he hasn't packed by the morning, then his father truly will have his hide. For a long time, Dean just stares at the flickering, dancing candlelight, mesmerised by it.

When he finally manages to start packing, it's haphazard, throwing whatever he can find into a saddle pack. Spare clothes, a book or two...

And his paper and ink. He still doesn't know how (or even _if_ ) he's going to tell C about this, but if he needs to write a letter, he wants to have the option.

But even if he doesn't end up sending a letter to C, there's still so much he needs to get off his chest. So much he needs to _write_ , even if no one but him ever sees it.

And so he sits down at his desk, pulls out a sheet of paper, and _writes_. One sheet, two sheets, three. He writes until he's out of ink, until he's poured his heart out onto the pages, and then he sits back and stares emptily down at his own words.

There it is.

Everything he feels about C, all laid out on the pages before him. His soul, flayed open and laid bare.

Now that it's all out, Dean doesn't know what to do with the letter. He reads over the start again— _Dear C, Dear C, Dear C_ —and before he realises, he's gathered the pages up, and he's holding them over the flame.

The candlelight dances, reaching greedily up towards the paper where Dean holds it just out of reach. It wants, it _hungers_ , and Dean doesn't know if he should let it have what he has created. Should he consign his feelings to the fire?

In the end, he doesn't know how long he holds it there, just watching the flame _yearn_. To give in is to give up on him and C—on the hope that they will ever have a future, on the hope that they will ever meet, that C will ever be ready to hear Dean's thoughts and that Dean will ever be ready to share them.

It's stupid. It's stupid to hold on, he knows that.

But part of him, the part that is not yet broken...

He can't give up. Not just yet.

And so he lifts the papers away from the flame and blows it out. The letter is carefully folded, tucked into an envelope, sealed with wax and then pushed down into the very bottom of Dean's saddle pack.

But, out of sight or not, he can't stop thinking about it. He finishes his careless packing, then strips down and climbs into bed, exhausted in every single way.

Sleep is a long time coming that night, and his last thought, before it finally claims him, is of C.

~

Dean wakes to a banging on the door of his quarters.

His whole body feels like it got run over by a cart, and as he stares up at the ceiling, gently washed with the first grey light of dawn, the events of yesterday come flooding back.

_Well, fuck._

The banging is coming more insistently now, and he groans as he rolls out of bed. "I'm awake!" he shouts towards the door, biting back the _fuck off_ he wants to attach to the end just because he doesn't know who it is out there.

Not wanting to risk further pissing off his father or the Edenites, Dean is quick to get ready, dressing in a thick pair of breeches and a tunic with a cloak. The mornings in Winchester _bite_ , and it's been a while since the last time he rode out at dawn.

Shouldering his saddle pack, he takes a second to say a quick goodbye to his quarters. He'll be coming back, he knows that, but he won't be the same person he was when he left.

No, he'll be coming back _married_ , with a _husband_.

Swallowing the grief that threatens to rise in his throat, Dean forces himself to turn and leave, making his way down to the courtyard. His family and the Edenites are already waiting, the foreigners mounted up on their horses.

Sam is standing beside Impala, holding onto her bridle and looking more upset than Dean has ever seen him. He's the one Dean goes to first, wrapping him in a tight hug and giving a watery chuckle when his little brother squeezes him tight.

"Hey, Sammy, it's okay," he says, trying to sound more reassuring than he feels. "I'll be coming back, okay? It's not like you're never gonna see me again."

Sam's expression, when they pull apart, is one of quiet anger and devastation. "It's not fair," he whispers, his voice choked up, and Dean nods.

"I know," he says quietly. "But it's what I have to do."

He doesn't bother saying goodbye to John and Mary. As far as he's concerned, they've betrayed him, and this isn't something he is easily going to forget. Instead, he helps Sam clip his saddle pack to his saddle, then swings up and onto Impala's back.

Uriel meets his gaze, mounted on a large grey mare of his own, and they exchange a nod. "Bye, Sammy," Dean tells his brother with a sad smile, and then he turns Impala as Uriel gives the order to ride out, cantering after the Edenites with his head held high.

He doesn't look back.

~

Even though it's the closest neighbouring kingdom to Winchester, Eden is still a long way away.

Objectively, Dean knows that. He's seen maps, he's ridden out to the border while he was training, but now that he's here, riding away from his home with a group of Edenites... it feels even further.

They ride all day, stopping only to water the horses and eat the lunch that the castle kitchens had packed, and then they press on. Slowly, the land they pass gets less and less familiar as they get further from the Winchester castle.

It's almost nightfall when they reach the border. Dean has been here once before, but it's hazy in his memory, and this? It feels so much sharper, so much more real, because now he's not just riding along it to point at the other side and say that he's seen Eden. No, this time, he's crossing over it.

The others don't hesitate—they spur their horses on, crossing the creek that defines the border in this spot with a great leap. Dean watches them, his heart in his throat, and then he follows.

_Stride, stride, stride, jump._

And then Impala's hooves are digging into the peat on the other side of the creek, and she's cantering on, after the others.

He's officially in Eden.

From there, they ride on another few minutes until they find a good spot to camp for the night. The Edenites ask if Dean would like them to set up a tent for him, but he politely declines. He'd much rather they didn't make a big deal out of all of this—and besides, he's perfectly comfortable sleeping in his cloak. Eden is slightly warmer than Winchester, after all, so he'll be fine.

Once again exhausted, this time from a full day of travel, it doesn't take long for Dean to fall asleep, tucked into the lee of a log and wrapped up in his cloak under Impala's watchful eye.

~

The next day follows much the same routine.

Every moment takes them further into Eden, and Dean finds that there is no shortage of things to look at. The people they pass are dressed differently, the buildings look strange, even the plants aren't what Dean is used to at home. It's all new, and a little intimidating. As they get further into the inhabited areas of the kingdom, Dean finds himself sticking closer to his Edenite guards, simply for the way people look at him as he rides past.

They can tell, just from the way he dresses, that he's different, and he's never in his life been looked at like this before.

That night, they stop for dinner at a nearby inn, then ride back to the outskirts of the village and camp out again. They're safer out here, in the open space where no one can sneak up on them or be bribed to shake down the foreigner.

But constantly on Dean's mind is the knowledge that tomorrow, he will meet his future husband.

Tomorrow, he will be getting married. 

For a long time, he stares up at the stars, his thoughts circling round and round, until he can't possibly keep his eyes open any longer. Finally, he succumbs to sleep.

~

The next morning, they wake early. Dean has already been staring up at the sky since before the first light started to appear, so when he hears the others start to stir, he takes that as his cue to get up.

Seeking a little bit of time to himself, he makes his way over to the stream bordering their camp for a drink. In the early morning light, his reflection is a grey-ish blue and ripples across the water. There's dirt streaked across his cheekbone, presumably from his rough night's sleep, and so Dean scoops his hands into the water and scrubs at his face and his hair until he feels at least halfway clean.

He has to make a half-decent impression when he shows up at the palace of Eden, after all.

"Your Highness!" Uriel calls from the camp, and Dean lets himself crouch on the bank of the stream, in this brief moment of quiet, for just a few seconds longer. It's going to be the last time he gets to himself for the rest of today, of that he's quite certain.

But he can't escape it forever. With a sigh, Dean straightens up, wincing at the way some of his joints crack after two nights of sleeping on the ground. At least tonight he'll be in a bed again—but that's not something he particularly wants to think about either.

"Coming!" he calls back, stretching out his back and then making his way back to the camp. Impala greets him with a nudge of her nose, and he pats her affectionately. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmurs.

The Edenites share their breakfast with Dean—pastry and some sort of spiced meat—and then they mount up again for the short ride to the palace. Dean hangs back, surrounded by guards, and he's glad he discovered the dirt streak on his face earlier, because people are watching him as they ride through. _Whispering._

"Here we are," Uriel announces as they approach the drawbridge, which has been lowered in preparation of their arrival. The horses' hooves clatter on the wood as they canter across—and then they're inside the walls.

_Holy shit, this is real._

Despite the early hour, there's a collection of people already waiting for them in the courtyard. They look to be mostly servants and advisors, and many of them eye Dean with varying levels of curiosity and distrust as the group comes to a halt in the middle of the courtyard.

Uriel dismounts from his horse and hands the reins to a nearby servant before making his way over to the group of advisors. One of them is already scurrying off in the direction of the palace, presumably to fetch the royals, while the others mill about and discuss between themselves.

For now, Dean is more than comfortable staying up on Impala. He feels safer up here, and he can see what's coming much more easily than if her were on the ground. Eventually, though, Uriel comes over and asks him to dismount. When Dean's boots hit the ground, Uriel gives him a onceover that shows he's less than pleased with Dean's travelled-in clothes, but honestly, Dean couldn't give less of a fuck.

He'll be dressed up all fancy tonight, he's sure of that much, and that's all that matters.

Before he can give Uriel a dirty look for the onceover, the palace doors swing open, and all chatter goes quiet. Everyone turns to look towards the doors—

And towards the people emerging from them.

Immediately, Dean can't help but scan over them, trying to figure out who's who and which one of these people will be the one he's supposed to be marrying. The two who lead are older, clothed extravagantly, and hold their heads high, and so it doesn't take a genius to know that Dean is looking at the King and Queen of Eden.

Behind them, though, there's another figure. And as they emerge into the courtyard, the King and Queen move aside just enough, and—

And Dean finally gets to see the man he is destined to marry.

He's tall, although not quite as tall as Dean, with dark hair and blue eyes that are piercingly captivating, even across this distance. The silver armour and light underclothes customary of high-ranking Edenites highlights a hint of muscle across his arms, and—

Dean realises he's staring, and quickly looks away, diverting his gaze back to the King and Queen. His future husband is handsome (devastatingly so, almost), so that's good news, but...

But he's no C.

Dean swallows past the sudden lump in his throat, and sinks to one knee as the King and Queen come to stand in front of him. "Your Majesties," he greets—because he may be just a little fucking terrified of all this, but he still has his manners. He's going to be a good ambassador for his kingdom.

The Queen makes a soft, pleased sound. "Please rise, Prince Dean of Winchester," she says. "I hope your journey was pleasant. We would like to introduce you to our son, and your future husband," she tells Dean as he gets to his feet—and once again, Dean locks eyes with the gorgeous boy. He's even more stunning up close.

"Prince Dean, meet Prince Castiel of Eden. Your betrothed."

Dean gives him a small, polite bow, which Castiel returns. "It's nice to meet you," he says quietly, trying to muster up a smile that he doesn't feel. It could be worse, it could be so much worse, but... that still doesn't mean that he's okay with any of this.

And from the look on Prince Castiel's face, he isn't either. Still, he gives Dean a small smile. "You too, Prince Dean."

The Queen claps her hands sharply, and Dean lets his gaze shift away from Castiel's. "Very good," she says. "Let's bring you inside, where we can get you cleaned up and relaxed for a little while before the ceremony, shall we?"

The King and Queen turn away, clearly done with Dean for now, and immediately, there are two servants at his side, gently guiding him away from the horses and over towards the palace doors.

Castiel follows after him for a few steps, then pauses, uncertainty clear on his face. "I—I’m sorry, I don't quite know what to do here," he admits, and at least they're on even footing in that regard.

"Me neither," Dean admits, as they step into the palace. The servants give him a little more space now that they're sure that he's following them, which lets him fall into step beside Castiel. "It's... well, it's all a bit fucked, honestly."

One of the servants gives him a disapproving look, but Castiel snorts, and that makes Dean feel _much_ better. "I agree," Castiel says, the faintest hint of amusement colouring his voice. "At least we got some warning, though—and I always knew that I'd be at risk of entering into a political marriage."

Dean raises his eyebrows. " _You_ got warning, huh?" he can’t help but ask. Suddenly, he's feeling a little less charitable towards Castiel, as bitterness rises up inside him once again. "Well, I'm so glad for you, because _I_ only found out... what, three days ago? So I really haven't had much chance to process the fact that I won't ever get the chance to marry for love."

Castiel's expression falls, and as the servants pause in front of a door up ahead, Castiel stops a few steps behind Dean. That blue gaze bores into him, his eyes full of a deep sadness that Dean hadn't truly been expecting to see. "Three days ago?" he asks quietly. "Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

At least he feels bad about it—and _Dean_ feels bad about taking his emotions out on the poor guy, but between the short notice, and the fact that he’s marrying an Edenite, and the feelings that have been developing towards C since they were just _kids_...

He's not really coping that well.

"Yeah, well, it is what it is," he mutters, and turns away as one of the servants clears his throat. "I'll see you at the ceremony, I guess."

"Dean, wait—" Castiel calls after him, but it's too late. Dean follows the servants through the open door, and they let it swing closed after him, separating him from the man he is supposed to marry but does not love.

Everything in his brain is such a whirlwind right now that when the servants strip him of his dirty travelling clothes and usher him into a hot bath, he goes more than willingly. The hot water feels incredible against his skin, washing away the layers of sweat and grime, and he sinks into it with a blissful groan.

For just the shortest of whiles, he is able to lie there in the bath and forget. His thoughts drift—thoughts of home, of Sam, of C. Thoughts of the first letter he ever wrote, the first letter he ever received.

Thoughts of the letter he'd written the night before he'd left Winchester.

And just like that, the calmness that had been settling inside him curdles.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. Dean tries his best not to think of Castiel and C and the wedding, but it's difficult to keep his mind away from those topics when it's all everyone is talking about or doing today. He's scrubbed clean, then has a barber shave him and cut his hair into a much neater style than he usually keeps it.

After that, he's ushered into his outfit—the showiest version of a tunic and armour he's ever had to wear, complete with an even more decadent version of his usual crown. _I look like a performing monkey,_ he thinks to himself as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. It's so vastly different to how he'd looked this morning, and he aches to have that back.

But there's no possible way that he could turn back now. That's never been an option, not since the moment his father had told him that he'd be getting married to a man he'd never met.

And at least Castiel seems to be okay—handsome, and kind, if a little awkward—but he's not who Dean would have chosen. As much as he knows he's doing this for his kingdom...

It's not fair.

As much as he wishes he could pause time, the day keeps rolling on. Dean is constantly adjusted and spruced, shuffled from one room to the next, until finally, it's time.

 _Fuck me, fuck this, fuck everything,_ he thinks to himself as he stands in front of the doors to the great hall of the palace, flanked by four guards but completely and utterly alone.

All he can do now is hold his head high and do his duty for his kingdom, and when the doors swing open...

He swallows down the nervous butterflies, curls his fingers into fists at his side, and _walks_.

There are so many people, dressed so differently to him and staring at him as though he's an _other_ , someone who doesn't belong to them. Which, he supposes, is accurate—he _doesn't_ belong to them, but his whole life has been so quickly uprooted that to be standing here, in front of all these people, is a little overwhelming.

But Dean has never been one to back down from a challenge, and so he holds himself like the prince he is as he makes his way down the aisle.

Standing at the end, waiting for him, is Castiel. He looks stunning, the silver crown perched atop his head perfectly complementing his outfit and his eyes—but that's not what Dean focuses on.

No, he focuses on the tiny, reassuring smile that Castiel is giving him. The smile that says _it will be okay, we will get through this together._ He takes that, and he fixates on it, and before he knows it, he's standing up at the altar, facing the man who is about to become his husband.

Castiel is no C, but he is kind and thoughtful. All Dean can do is hope that that will be enough, and that he'll be a good husband, no matter how much he wishes he could have married for love.

The ceremony, for all that has lead up to it, doesn't take very long.

The priest says some boring stuff in English, and then some other stuff in a language that Dean doesn't understand, and then all of a sudden he's asking Castiel if he will take Dean to be his husband. "I do," Castiel intones solemnly, and again, there's that sadness in his eyes that makes Dean wonder—does he too have someone who he wishes was taking Dean's place right now? Someone he loves, a relationship he's sacrificing for the good of his kingdom?

Dean's blood is rushing in his ears, and he feels as though he might throw up when the priest turns his attention on him. He barely hears the questions being asked of him, but just enough must get through to him for him to understand, because then he's saying, "I do," and the whole hall is applauding.

"You may now kiss each other," the priest announces, and Dean doesn't overthink it ( _can't_ overthink it, otherwise he's going to break down) as he leans forward and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Castiel's lips.

There.

He's _married._

Everything after that is a blur. Dean meets the King and Queen again, and then a long line of other important people—Castiel's brothers and sisters, advisors to the throne, other nobles who have travelled here to witness the unity between Eden and Winchester.

And through it all, Castiel stays by Dean's side, their hands tightly laced as they try their best to hold each other up. They're in this together now, for better and for worse, and honestly, knowing that Castiel might have someone else that he loves makes him feel a little better. At least he understands how Dean is feeling.

~

Finally, they get a brief period of respite. They have to change out of their wedding finery and into something more suited for their wedding dinner, which means that they're both escorted upstairs and, of course, both ushered into Castiel's private **chambers**.

Dean leans back against the door as it closes behind them, happy to feel something solid under him so that if his body decides now is the time to give up and pass out, he doesn't have far to go.

"Holy fuck," he breathes, and looks down at the silver ring on his left hand, forged out of the same metal that the Edenites seem to use for everything. He's married. This is _real_.

Across the room, Castiel is watching him, leaning back against his desk with his hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks finally, when Dean doesn't move from the door.

he alright? His body's still functioning, and his hands aren't shaking any more, which is good. He's still not convinced that the reality of all this has sunk in yet, but for now...

"Yeah, I think I'm okay," Dean says, and saying it out loud makes it feel a little more certain. "You?"

Castiel shrugs his shoulders. "As good as I can be. It all feels... a bit surreal."

"Tell me about it," Dean mutters. He takes off his crown and runs his fingers through his hair, then pushes off the door and makes his way over to the bed, where their dinner outfits have been laid out. Dean's is simpler this time, something he's much more comfortable wearing, but he doesn't want to change into it just yet, so instead he drops his crown onto the bed beside the clothes and sighs.

"I'll go into the bathing ensuite," Castiel suggests, making his way over and carefully picking up his outfit. This close, Dean can't help but watch the way his hair curls just slightly behind his ears, or the kind crinkle of his eyes when he looks over.

He could have done a lot worse, that's for sure.

"That's probably a good idea," Dean says, mustering up a smile to let Castiel know that he's grateful for the offer. They're probably going to see each other naked tonight anyway (and _that's_ another talk they're going to have to have later), but right now, Dean would much prefer his privacy.

Castiel returns his smile, and it's a nice feeling when Dean realises that he's slowly getting more and more comfortable around Castiel. "You're welcome," Castiel says, then gathers up the last of his clothes and makes his way over to the door set into the far wall. "Just knock on the door when you're finished changing, and I'll come back out."

Dean nods his understanding, then watches as Castiel disappears into the next room.

For the first time since this morning, he is finally alone, just him and his thoughts—not that he particularly wants to examine the things going around and around in his head right now, but the quiet is nice.

He doesn't particularly want to get dressed straight away, because as soon as he is, they'll have to go down to dinner, and so he starts having a brief look around Castiel's room instead. It's much less fancy than all the other rooms Dean has seen in the palace, and the few items he does have in here—bed, dresser, wardrobe, desk—all seem like they're built for practicality over elegance. Dean can get on board with that.

He browses around Castiel's room for a little bit, trying to get a feel for who his new husband is. The desk is neatly kept but covered in books and writing implements, and Dean can't help but think fondly of C and his love of books as he wanders over. Dean runs his fingers over the edge of the desk, reading through all the different book titles—

And then his gaze falls on something achingly familiar.

Tucked away behind a stack of books, pressed down by a paperweight, is a stack of papers. They're the exact same colour and size as the paper from every single letter that Dean has ever received from C, and he can't help but reach out to touch them.

 _Is this a common paper in Eden?_ he thinks to himself, as his heart aches for the love he will never meet. _So C is probably an Edenite. What a cruel coincidence._

Dean has a little more time before he has to start getting ready—Castiel's new outfit had looked much more complicated to put on than Dean's—and so he can't help but poke around a little bit more. His eyes keep wandering back to that paper, thinking _what if, what if_ , and he keeps dragging his gaze away.

In an effort to distract himself, he pulls open some of the drawers, and in the third one he opens...

There is another stack of paper.

Except this stack is even more familiar. Because it's the same paper that Dean uses, and it—

It's covered in his own handwriting.

"No," he breathes in disbelief, his eyes wide, as he reaches for the top letter. It's the same one he'd sent last week, before he'd found out all of this was happening, and now... now it's _here_.

C.

_Castiel._

Dean doesn't want to hope—doesn't want to hope that the universe could be _so_ kind to him, because he's sure he doesn't deserve a twist like this, but he has to be sure. His hands trembling, he reaches for the top letter (there are so many here, has Castiel kept them all, just like Dean has?), and picks it up.

"Cas?" he calls, even as he's striding over to the door, and it opens as he reaches for the handle.

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel asks. He's only half-dressed, and his hair is sticking up in odd directions. His eyes look slightly red-rimmed, but as his gaze falls on the letter in Dean's hand, they widen. "Were you looking in my desk?"

"I found these," Dean tells him, and suddenly, he can hardly speak past the lump that's risen in his throat. "What are they, Cas?"

Gods, Castiel's expression is so sad. Dean watches as he takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes for a second. "They're letters," he says quietly. "From a... a friend of mine, in another kingdom. His name is Michael. Dean, I—I love him, but I know nothing can ever happen now. I'll be a good husband, I—"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean says, because holy shit, _holy shit_. He can't help the giddy laugh that bubbles up from his chest, and Castiel is looking at him like he's crazy now. "Hold on, just—wait here."

He presses the letter against Castiel's chest, then turns and runs back to where his saddle pack is sitting, propped up against the end of the bed. It only takes him a handful of seconds to find what he's after, shoving his hand down past clothes and books to the letter that's sitting at the bottom.

The envelope is a little bent and creased, but still good, and he brandishes it triumphantly as he makes his way back to where Cas is still standing, looking more than a little bewildered.

"Read this," he says, taking the old letter from Castiel's hands and swapping it for the new envelope. He's feels like he's fucking vibrating, because everything's coming together, and gods willing, he might get the true love he's been after this whole damn time.

Castiel frowns down at the letter in his hands, then turns it open and cracks the seal. There's a flicker of recognition, then, but it's only when he pulls out the paper within that his eyes go wide, and he looks up at Dean.

" _Read_ ," Dean insists, his voice cracking on the single syllable, and so Castiel does. He reads silently, eyes scanning over the handwriting that is so familiar because it's Dean's, and by the time he's halfway, there are tears rolling down his cheeks.

Dean can pinpoint the exact moment that he reaches the end, and it's in that same moment that he realises he's crying too.

_Anyway, I don't think you're ever going to read this, but... I had to put it on paper._

_Because I'm in love with you. I love you so much, and if I never get to tell you in person, then this will have to be enough._

_Yours forever,  
_ _Dean._

"Oh," Castiel says softly, more of an exhale than a word, and when he looks up at Dean, his eyes are shining. He's smiling now, _really_ smiling for the first time since Dean has met him, and it makes his heart sing. "You... you're Michael?"

Dean gives him a little mock bow. "Prince Dean Michael of Winchester," he says, with a watery laugh and a grin. "And you're C."

"I am C," Cas confirms. "All these years... I fell in love with you more and more with every letter, but I never expected... I never expected to get to _meet_ you, let alone marry you by accident."

In all his years, Dean doesn't think he's _ever_ been as happy as he is right now, in this moment. "Me neither," he says with a disbelieving laugh, and he can't help but reach out, curving his hand gently around Castiel's jaw as he takes a tiny step closer. "I've loved you for a long time already, Cas, and now... _fuck me_ , now I get to keep loving you as my husband. That's insane."

"I think the fucking should probably wait, Dean," Castiel quips with a little half-smirk, and _there's_ the snarky son of a bitch that Dean has known from their letters for so long. "People will be waiting for us, after all."

That pulls a chuckle from Dean. "Let them wait," he declares, cupping Castiel's cheek with his other hand and kissing him.

This kiss is nothing like the kiss at the wedding. That one had been quick, chaste, awkward, but this? This doesn’t even compare.

All their years of pining, of love they thought had been unrequited and a distance that had been too great to bridge... it's all culminated into this one kiss. Dean kisses Castiel like he's drowning, and Cas returns it twofold, his hands roaming over his body and raking through his hair. It's fucking hot and wonderful and _perfect_ —everything Dean had ever dreamed of.

"I love you," he whispers against Castiel's lips, and feels Cas press their foreheads together, just for a moment.

"I love you too, Dean Michael," he says, his voice tinged with amusement, and then they're kissing again, and Dean is more than happy to let everything else slip away.

They end up being more than a little late (and a bit rumpled) for their dinner, but when the King and Queen see the wideness of their smiles and the way that they just can't keep their hands off each other...

Well, it's hard to mind when they look so incredibly _happy_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked this!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com), and subscribe to me on ao3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo). Also, come join us at the [Profound Bond discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond), a home to Destiel fans from all walks of life <3


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